Devil in a Kilt (26 page)

Aye,
his friend knew women, but not Linnet.
She
wouldn't be distressed upon
seeing his first wife's great beauty. Appearance mattered little to his lady
wife. Such things were of no significance to her.

She'd
be more upset to find her precious herbarium destroyed than to gaze upon the
loveliness of a woman she knew to be dead.

But
his confidence evaporated the moment he entered their bedchamber and saw her
sitting before the fire.

She
looked as though she'd been out in the rain the entire time he'd been away. Her
hair fell loose about her shoulders and was badly snarled from the storm winds,
while her gown was wrinkled and damp, the leather of her shoes dark with
waterstains. Only the worn
arisaid
she clutched about her appeared to be
dry.

"By
the Rood, woman, must I watch over you every minute?" Duncan asked
sharply, forgetting the bland words he'd meant to utter before slipping into
bed to await her sweet explorations of his body. "What have you done to
yourself?"

"I...
I have been—"

"I
ken where you've been." He strode toward her, holding the little flagon in
his outstretched hand.

Her
eyes widened, but she said not a word, only gaped at him from troubled eyes.

"Have
you naught to say?" Duncan prodded, leaning so close he could smell the
sea brine in her wildly tangled hair.

But
for once she didn't spout pepper at him. She only shook her head and stared at
the fire. Why didn't she speak up for herself, show him the vinegar she'd exhibited
nigh onto every day since he'd first brought her to Eilean Creag?

Why
didn't she revile him for pining for his dead wife?

Marmaduke
had warned him that Linnet would believe he
was
pining and, as always,
the one-eyed bastard had been right.

And
he doubted Linnet would ever believe how far from the truth her assumptions
lay.

Duncan
swore, an oath blacker and more ominous than the storm-darkened night lurking
beyond the thick tower walls. As if the heavens understood his frustration, a
loud crack of thunder sounded, its resounding boom drowning out his curse. His
wife jumped as if struck, but as quickly reassumed her rigid posture.

No
doubt she'd jumped because of him, not the thunder.

Whether
she'd heard his curses or no.

‘Twas
well aware he was of his untamed appearance. But
he'd
had reason to be
out on such a night. He'd sought to ferret out Kenneth and his followers,
banish them from his lands once and for all time. Hoped to send his half
brother to the most vile abyss in hell for his many crimes.

But
more, for his lady's sake.

To
protect her from harm at Kenneth's hands.

Yet
she shrank away from him as if
he
were the one to be feared.

Stepping
close enough to tower over her chair, Duncan planted his hands on his hips and
gazed down at her. "If you will not speak of what I know weighs on your
mind, then tell me why you look as if you've been swimming in the loch."

"I
did not leave the castle, sirrah," she snapped, showing a spark of her
usual backbone. "I was on the battlements, watch—"

"That,
too, I know, milady, for ‘tis none under my roof what dinna tell me what
wondrous feat you've accomplished." He paused to drag a hand through his
own damp and disheveled hair. "I suppose their hunger has grown greater
than their dread of a murderer."

Something
flared briefly in his lady wife's eyes, and he couldn't tell if it'd been
anger, frustration, or pity. He hoped it wasn't the latter, but whatever it'd
been, she now sat ramrod straight in her chair, regarding him from eyes that no
longer looked so haunted.

"And
did you?" she blurted, piercing him with a gaze as all-seeing as his
annoying arse of a brother-in-law's.

"Did
I what?" Duncan shot back, fully aware of her meaning.

He
grew rapidly uncomfortable under her sharp perusal. ‘Twas
she
who now
steered their discourse ... and in a direction he did not care to venture.

"Did—I—
what?
" he repeated in a tone that would've warned a more prudent soul.

"Did
you murder your first wife?"

Duncan's
face flushed with heat at her blunt question, and his stomach tightened into a
cold, hard knot. "What do you think?" The four words dropped between
them like tiny chips of ice.

Faith,
how he wished she'd abandon the cheek he'd yearned for only moments ago and
return to her prior stubborn silence. The lass riled him more than any man
should be made to endure.

"You
are the seventh daughter. Can you not see the answer to your
question?" he challenged, his temper barely in check.

She
looked away then, and for a long moment, the rumble of thunder and soft popping
of the fire made the only sound. Keeping her gaze averted, she finally said,
"I already know the answer. Still, I should like to hear it from
you."

"If
you can see the answer to a matter of such gravity, why can you not divine if
Robbie is my true son or nay?"

"That
answer, too, will come in time, milord. And it was not my gift that told me you
did not kill the lady Cassandra," she said, returning her gaze to his.
"It was my heart."

"Then
you canna know for sure, for hearts lie," Duncan contradicted.

"Nay,
they do not," she said simply, folding her hands in her lap and peering up
at him with that strange look in her eyes again.

Unable
to stand her close scrutiny, Duncan turned away from her and crossed the
chamber to the bed, shrugging off his drenched cloak as he went. His back to
her, he drew his tunic over his head, then began removing his soggy shoes when
she stayed him with one sentence.

Stiffening,
Duncan asked her to repeat the softly whispered words he hoped he'd misunderstood.

"I
said, actions dinna lie either."

"What
actions?"
Not that he wanted to know.

"The
action of a bereaved man keeping his dead wife's likeness in his
bedchamber," she said, her tone as bland as if she were commenting on the
rain hammering against the shutters.

Duncan
crossed the room in a heartbeat. He grasped the arms of her chair so tightly it
wouldn't have surprised him if the heavy oak had snapped in twain beneath his
fingers.

Leaning
forward until he could taste her breath upon his lips, he said, "You
cannot know why I kept the panel-painting, and I will not speak of it. I
will
tell you whatever tale you've conjured up as a reason ‘tis untrue."

She
gasped, pressing herself into the back of the chair, but keeping her jaw
defiantly lifted, her injured gaze level with his furious one.

"God's
blood, wench!" Duncan cursed, straightening. "Must you e'er vex
me?"

"I
understand, milord. Truly. I've never seen a more beautiful woman."

"You
understand naught, do you hear me?" He grabbed her arms, pulling her to
her feet. "Naught, I say!"

"You
are hurting me, sirrah," she cried, and he released her immediately.

Rubbing
her upper arms where he'd gripped her, she persisted, "But I do. It is not
difficult to comprehend. At least why you haven't touched me since our wedding
night. What I do not understand is how you can even bear to look upon me after
being married to her?"

"Will
you drive me to the brink of madness?" Duncan groaned, then closed his
eyes, forcing himself to draw a long, calming breath.

When
he felt able to speak again, he opened his eyes, determined to guide their
evening to a swift and peaceful close. "‘Tis tired and wet we both are,
Linnet," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "I am going to bed. I
bid you to do the same." He paused for emphasis. "And remove those
damp garments afore you join me. It suits no purpose for either of us to become
ill."

Returning
to the bed without sparing her another glance, Duncan rid himself of his shoes
at last, then stripped off his braies until naught but the chill air of the
room was next to his bare skin.

Hearing
no telltale rustling of clothes, and heedless of his nakedness, he turned to
face her. "If you are not out of those sopping rags and into bed by the
time I've doused the candles, I swear I shall divest you of them myself."

She
eyed him warily as he went about pinching the candlewicks, but made no move to
rid herself of her rain-dampened garments. "My clothes are merely damp,
not sopping, and I've no intent to remove them. I beseech you to leave me
be," she said, her voice so low he barely heard her. "Please."

Duncan
took two steps forward, then halted at the look on her face.

Gone,
the brief flaring of temper, a condition he much preferred ... except now. In
its place, she wore an expression he first thought to be shyness.

Yet
such modesty made scarce sense for she'd slept fully unclothed beside him for
many nights now.

And
during those nights, she'd done deliriously wicked things to his senses, her
innocent explorations arousing him more than the wiles of the most skilled harlot
he'd e'er paid to lift her skirts.

Duncan
stared hard at her, suddenly recognizing it was shame clouding her gold-flecked
eyes, turning their normally enchanting color a dull brown.

Shame
making her seem to shrink into herself as he strode forward again. And that
knowledge sent a pointed shard of regret lancing through him, for he knew what
had put the abashment on her face and self-doubt into her soul.

The
all-knowing Sassunach had told him.

"And
why can you not undress?" he queried, as if he must torture himself by
hearing the words from her own lips. "What has changed since I left that
you will no longer disrobe before me? ‘Tis oft enough I've seen your naked
flesh." He glanced briefly at his own nakedness, thankfully at rest.
"As you have seen mine."

"Everything
has changed." She turned her face away from him.

Biting
back another furious oath, Duncan closed the distance between them and took her
chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Naught has changed save the
foolishness you've allowed to overrule your good sense."

"Nay,
‘tis my good sense that has opened my eyes to the truth. The only foolishness I
am guilty of is ... is ... having thought you could care for me."

He
hadn't expected to feel such a painful stab of regret, but he did. By the
Rood, he
did
care for her. He
desired
her, too. But the
stirrings of his body were naught but lust. What man could lie still each night
whilst a maid ran her gentle hands o'er his flesh and
not
quicken with
animal need?

Aye,
he cared, but not in the manner she wished.

Not
in a romantic sense.

Such
folly was best left for young squires like Lachlan, yet to earn their spurs.

Yet
to have their hearts ripped out and trod into the dirt.

"I
do care, lass," he said, hoping to soothe her. "‘Tis the highest
regard I have for you. Think you I've not seen all you've done here? Now cease
fretting o'er a dead woman who means naught to me, remove your gown, and come
to bed."

Instead
of having the effect he'd desired, his words only seemed to make her more
miserable. And when, in frustration, he reached to help her undress, she pulled
away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as if to ward off a demon
straight from the bowels of hell.

"Dinna
touch me," she warned. "I will not stand ungarbed before you again.
You can do naught but compare me to the lady Cassandra yet... yet... there can
be no comparison. I am not beautiful."

"Splendor
of Christ!" Duncan fair exploded. "Did you not hear me say I care for
you? Must I tell you I desire you, too? Is that what you wish to hear?"
In one quick motion, he pulled her hard against his chest. " ‘Tis true, do
you hear?
I
—
desire
—
you
!"

"I
do not see how you can."

"Damnation,
but you try my patience," he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
"Saints alive, lass, think you truly I've slept these past nights? What
kind of a man do you hold me for that I could lie there, unfeeling, whilst you
let your fingers roam all o'er my body?"

Her
jaw dropped. "You knew?"

"Aye,
I knew," he breathed, resting his chin atop her head and reveling in the
warm, womanly feel of her. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, letting
them roam lower each time until he cupped her lower buttocks and molded her so
tightly against him she couldn't deny the evidence of his arousal. "‘Tis
half-mad you've been driving me."

"And
‘tis mad you shall make me, if you dinna release me at once." Her hands
were flattened between them and she pressed hard against his chest. "Have
you forgotten your own arrangement? Was it not you who said you did not wish a
true consort?"